so marry within thy station! Again Ambrosius, in answering the question what one should look for in a consort, saith: 'Ammorem, morem, rem'—Love, morals, means."

A good maxim, truly, but for all that the damsel did not write it down in her exercise-book.

"And here we have a wooer who possesses all three. He brings love with good morals and has somewhat besides. His station in life indeed is not very illustrious, for, like me, he is only a parson. But Macrobius saith, 'Amores sunt sicut flores'—Maidens are like flowers, that is to say, they soon wither; and as Drexelius Trismegistus hath it, 'Sæpius ima petet melius qui scandere novit'—He often sinks into the depths who seeks the heights. Write that in your book, my daughter, 'tis a golden precept! Nor be appalled at your suitor's poverty. Cyprian saith: 'Paupertas dura sed secura et sine cura'—Poverty is hard, but hardy, and has naught to care for. Write that down also, my daughter Michal!"

But pretty Michal did not record these golden maxims, either in the original or yet a translation. On the contrary she laid her pen aside and said: "I don't like him!"

The reverend gentleman gave a great start of astonishment. "That is a paradox. To love no one—that is possible; but not to love a particular person—that is absurd. Have you then any idea what love is? 'Amantes sunt dementes'—Lovers are demented. What don't you like about him? His red hair, eh? 'Homo rufus rare bonus, sed si bonus valde bonus'—A red-haired man is rarely good, but if good then very good indeed. Or perhaps you don't like him because he belongs to another nation? Nay, but mark what the wise Queen Christina used to say: 'There are only two kinds of nations on the whole earth, the god-fearing and the godless.' If you don't like him now, you'll learn to like him by and by. The Italians say: 'Amore noné senza amaro'—Love is not without bitterness. Every good girl has to be shoved out of doors by her parents, because she would much rather stay at home than go away; but later on she is very grateful to them for getting her off their hands."

But pretty Michal, thanks to her much learning and her long domestic sway, had grown up with such a stout heart that in this one thing she even dared to gainsay her father and all his philosophic authorities to boot, for she said to the reverend gentleman:

"Nevertheless, I can't like him who desires my hand from you because I don't like him, and I don't like him because I like another."

On hearing these words, the scholar let his pipe fall from his mouth.

"That is indeed an argumentum ad hominum," said he. "You love another, eh? Where on earth did you pick him up? Where did you set your eyes upon him? When have you spoken to him?"

The maiden cast down her eyes and said nothing.

This was too much. The learned professor rose from his chair straightway, and said in an austere, dictatorial voice: "Write in your book, 'Virginitas dum aspicitur, inficitur'—Where maidenhood is concerned mere inspection is infection. Whom have you allowed to look into your eyes?"

"No one," answered Michal.

"No one! Where then have you spoken to anyone?"

"Nowhere."

"But if you have spoken to no one, neither with your eyes nor yet with your mouth, how could you possibly have fallen in love with anyone? Make a clean breast of it. You know that the smallest lie is a greater sin than the greatest crime honestly confessed. In what way have you been carrying on this intrigue?"

"By writing."

"Has anyone written to you then?"

"Yes, and I've replied."

"But how is that possible? My house is barred and bolted night and day. You cannot even look out upon the street. You were never allowed to go anywhere without me. The garden is protected by a moat. A suspicious character could not possibly get in here unless he flew down from the sky."

"It came down from the sky."

"It! What do you mean by it?"

"The dragon."

At first the professor's mind wandered off to the dragon which St. George had scotched, but perhaps not quite killed; but he bethought himself and asked, "A paper dragon,[1] I suppose?"

"Yes. They were flying a dragon in the market-place, and I was watching it for a long time. Suddenly it fell into our garden, and remained hanging on an apple tree. I went to take it down, and when I had it in my hand I saw that it was covered all over with verses addressed to me, and they were so lovely that I cannot find words to describe them."

"Lovely! pshaw! profane scribble I call them. Does not Macrobius say: 'Ignibus iste liber quod ipse ignibus liber!'—Into the flames with that book if thou wouldst escape the flames thyself! And what makes you think that these shameless verses were addressed to you?"

"They were no such thing. Had they been shameless verses I should have thrown them away. They were beautiful, true-hearted verses, with my name written over every one of them, for there is no other girl here called Michal. I tried to answer them."

"To answer them! How?"

"I fastened what I wrote to the dragon with the written side turned inward, then, with the help of the pack-thread which still remained attached thereto, I let it mount up again."

"But suppose he to whom it belonged never got it?"

"He most certainly got it, for the next day he sent me the answer."

"Again by means of the dragon?"

"No. The next day he wrote me by the balloon."

The balloon in question was a large inflated box bladder, covered over with calf skin. The youth of the town used this balloon in their athletic exercises, knocking it into the air with their fists, and otherwise disporting themselves therewith.

"I see it all now. The rascal placed his letter inside the balloon, and threw it into our garden. You took out your letter, stuck in your reply, and pitched the balloon back again."

To think that neither Theophrastus nor Trismegistus should have foreseen such a case: an aërial correspondence, carried on without the intervention of the post-office!

"And how far has this precious correspondence proceeded?"

"We have both sworn eternal fidelity to each other."

"There we have it! What is the use of bolts and bars and all human wisdom? So you have pledged away your hand without your father's consent. Don't you know that among the Protestants the consent of the parents is requisite to a marriage; without it, no betrothal is valid and no wedding can be solemnized?"

"Then has he who demands my hand from you brought with him the written consent of his father to his marriage with me?"

"He has no father; he is an orphan."

"You said just now that the smallest lie was a greater sin than the greatest crime honestly confessed. And I say that he, my suitor, has lied. He has a father who is a rich man of high degree."

"Who told you so?"

"The dragon and the balloon. He boasted of it to a friend, and the heavenly posts have brought me tidings thereof."

Now, indeed, the reverend gentleman was as fairly caught as ever the devil was by a witch's foot. To this reply there was absolutely no rejoinder.

"I'll take him to task for it to-morrow," said he, "and meantime I postpone the inquiry. After it is